


These Flowers Bloom for You

by Therapeutic_Steter



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Hanahaki AU, M/M, Mild Blood
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-26
Updated: 2018-05-26
Packaged: 2019-05-14 03:20:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,493
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14761620
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Therapeutic_Steter/pseuds/Therapeutic_Steter
Summary: Hanahaki disease. The unrequited love disease.This might be an actual problem.





	These Flowers Bloom for You

Peter was at Deaton’s when it first happened. He was poking through the doctor’s herbs, listening with one ear as Stiles complained to Scott about how banged up at he got during their last perimeter check (why the boy had wanted to come in the first place, Peter would never know), and he felt a…tickling sensation in his throat.

Peter cleared his throat, frowning when that only made the tickling worse. He tried again, coughing into his hand a few times. The feeling continued to get worse though and soon he was having a full coughing fit. He covered his mouth with his hand, coughing uncontrollably, and he startled when he actually felt…something odd make its way up his throat. He shivered, spitting out whatever the thing was into his hand. His eyes widened.

It was a flower petal. A perfect, silky white flower petal.

Peter stuffed the petal into his pocket, deciding to ignore it for now.

…

Peter tried to ignore the tickling when it happened again two days later. This time he was at the loft, though he was upstairs and not mingling with the Pack as they have their movie night or whatever they call it. Peter was never invited and he didn’t care to be anyways. He was too old to hang out with a bunch of teenagers besides.

He could hear Stiles even from upstairs in his room though, the boy loudly narrating the superhero movie playing. He was adding little tidbits that most people wouldn’t know and it was interesting just to listen to him talk. If Peter closed his eyes, he could even picture the flailing that more than likely goes along with the passionate words.

Eventually the tickling moved beyond anything he could ignore though and he started hacking violently. He blindly reached for the trash can beside his table, dragging it over just in time to spit out two more petals. His nose crinkled in revulsion and he spat on top of them.

Disgusting.

…

The petals started coming faster. Peter was getting concerned. He searched for an answer, but the only thing he could find is absolutely ridiculous and in no way an actual possibility.

Hanahaki disease. The unrequited love disease.

Peter groaned, rolling over and coughing as the petals tickle his lungs and throat. He spat up a mouthful of petals into his trashcan, but he kept coughing, even more coming. Worryingly, there was blood that came up with the petals this time.

This might be an actual problem.

…

Peter has survived being burned alive, even crawled his way back from death itself after having his throat slashed out, and now he’s about to meet his end because of a foolish _crush_.

Peter felt disgusted in himself, though he had no chance to express it with full flowers coming up his throat. He shivered, the sensation of the petals working their way up his throat unpleasant and odd, not to mention suffocating. He threw up the most recent bloom, frowning with real concern at the blood staining the white petals.

“I will not confess to a teenager,” Peter sneered at his reflection, wincing at the shadows under his eyes and hollowness of his face. He hadn’t been able to eat in two days; the flowers were coming so quickly now, he was lucky to get a half-hour reprieve before another started tickling his throat.

“No,” Peter told the flowers, heart twisting and chest aching as the vines and flowers kept him from taking a full breath. “I’m not.”

…

“Seriously, dude, what is your deal?” Stiles grumbled, trying to concentrate in the book.

Peter muffled another cough, petals tickling his throat. He needed to get out of there. He moved to stand, desperation making him sloppy and he tripped over Stiles’ bag.

“Peter?” Stiles said, finally looking up, a hint of concern coming through.

Peter shuddered, more coughs coming without his permission. He slapped his hand over his mouth to keep the petals form spilling, eyes wide as he fought the urge to gag.

“Peter, come on!” Stiles said, rushing to his side. “Just spit it out, dude!”

Peter clenched his eyes shut, unwillingly vomiting the petals and blood into the loft’s floor. Stiles held his shoulder, supporting him as heaves wracked through him. He trembled once they were gone, wiping his mouth, refusing to look at him.

“Is that...flowers?” Stiles asked quietly. “And blood? Shit, Peter, what happened?”

“I'm fine,” Peter croaked, voice scratchy from where the vines had tore his throat. He coughed again, more blood coming up but no petals this time.

“Uh, yeah, no,” Stiles denied. “I know you're a werewolf, but that isn't natural.”

“Just leave it alone, Stiles,” Peter nearly begged.

“Actually,” Stiles said, thoughtful. “I think I've heard of something like this before.”

Peter's eyes widened. Oh no.

“One sec,” Stiles said, whipping his phone out and typing away before Peter could react to stop him. “Yeah. Hanahaki disease. That's it. Some kind of curse on unrequited...love…” Stiles trailed off, eyes widening before looking at Peter. “Uh…”

Peter looked away, chest aching. “Just leave me alone,” he muttered bitterly, feeling the blooms in his chest tickle the raw skin of his throat.

“Peter…” Stiles began, shifting on his feet. “Who is it?”

“Doesn't matter,” Peter said, quickly turning. “I'm leaving.”

“This is deadly!” Stiles said, rushing after him and moving to block him from the door. “Come on, dude. You don't want to die. Maybe they'll give you a chance. Have you even confessed?”

Peter growled. “No, and I'm not going to.”

“You're going to die because you're too stubborn to admit you like someone?” Stiles shouted incedulously.

“ _You're_ going to die because you can't keep your nose out of other people's business!” Peter shouted back, ignoring the tickling in his throat.

“Maybe I just don't want you to die!” Stiles yelled.

Peter paused, the words echoing in the loft. Stiles was meeting his eyes evenly, even though there was a hint of a blush on his cheeks.

“Why would you care?” Peter asked quietly, subdued.

“Because I like you, Peter,” Stiles said simply. “You're fun to hang around, you're smart, you keep up with me. You try to hide it, but you totally love this pack and would die to protect it. I respect that. Plus, you've been a big help and are obviously trying to do better, even if you're still haunted by some of the things you did.” Stiles shuffled his feet, a little embarrassed by the pink on his cheeks but determinedly keeping Peter's gaze. “You don't care for people easily, but when you do, you go all out. Don't think I haven't noticed, dude.” Stiles bit the corner of his lip, hesitantly. “I noticed because I'm the same way,” he added after a moment, voice low.

“It's you,” Peter croaked unbidden, flowers tickling within his chest.

Stiles eyes widened and Peter prayed for a swift death.

“Me?” Stiles asked in disbelief. “You...love me?”

“So much that it kills me, apparently,” Peter confirmed.

Stiles chuckled lightly, eyes bright with unshed tears. “Woah, dude. I...I wasn't expecting that.”

“Please put me out of my misery already and turn me down,” Peter groaned, closing his eyes and fighting off defeat. It didn't matter what he did, nothing could make up for his actions in the past.

Peter startled as Stiles’ touched his face, gentle hands cupping his cheeks. Peter met his gaze carefully, guarded.

“What if I don't want to reject you?” Stiles asked, little smirk fighting its way onto his face.

Peter's heart stopped before pumping faster than ever.

“Don't,” he croaked through a sore throat. “Don't play around.”

Stiles’ eyes were warm and so much more than Peter deserved. “I just told you I liked you, dude,” he said cheekily. “Did my heartbeat stutter?”

Peter let out a shaky breath, hesitant hands reaching up to curl against Stiles’ sides, fingers twisting into his shirt nervously.

“Can I...kiss you?” Peter asked, almost afraid to breathe.

Stiles beamed, leaning forward, and their mouths molded together easily. Peter gasped, hands clutching tighter to Stiles as his chest flared unnaturally warm, but not hot. It was like moving from the cold into the sunlight or sipping at hot tea in the morning chill. He took in a deep breathe, the first in ages to be unbothered by the flowers in his lungs. As the plants eased from his chest, his healing kicked in finally and the taste of blood in the back of his throat dissipated.

Stiles was smiling still, fingers twisting in the shorter hairs at the back of his head familiarly.

“So now you get to woo me, right?” Stiles teased lightly.

“Oh, I'll woo you, you little shit,” Peter teased back, tickling Stiles’ sides and laughing along with the younger man.

“Silly wolf,” Stiles muttered, nuzzling their noses together.

Peter kissed him again, because now he could.


End file.
